


The Bet

by Lassenby



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Fluff, Gambling, M/M, blowjob, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2195184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassenby/pseuds/Lassenby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Quill and Rocket stay up late one night, and make a really stupid bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bet

“If yer' right, I will _literally_ kiss your dick,” Rocket slurred, and waved his beer around. It sloshed on the table.

“I don't think you're using that word right. Literally. You're _literally_ using it wrong,” Peter said, chuckling at his own lame joke.

Rocket shook his head emphatically. “Nonononono. It's a bet. I BET you.”

“What're the stakes?” Peter sat across from Rocket at the Milano's conference table. The surface before him was littered with empty bottles and cooling takeout boxes. They were the only two left downstairs. Drax had already gone to bed, Gamora had rolled her eyes and gone upstairs after a particularly dirty joke, mumbling about immature boys under her breath, and Rocket didn't allow the sprout version of Groot see him drink. _I know he's not REALLY a baby, but I don’t wanna set a bad example,_ he'd explained.

The lights had automatically switched to nighttime mode, and neither of them had bothered to turn them up. Peter's vision pitched and rolled. For once, he'd managed to out-drink the raccoon.

“I'm seri-” Rocket burped. “Serious. I'll kiss yer' doodle.”

“My _what?_ ”

“Dingus! Dong! The ol' one-eyed snake. Right on it's purple head.”

Now Peter burped. “I think I'm gonna be sick.”

“Hey, I was gonna brush m' teeth first! Whaddya take me for? An animal?” Rocket laughed. In the dim light and Peter's walloping vision, his teeth flashed like daggers out of the darkness, and Peter knew he _was_ going to be sick. He jumped up and he sprinted for the bathroom, and landed hard on his knees in front of the toilet. Just in time, too. He clutched the seat with one arm and retched into the bowl, throwing up more than he felt like he'd drank, not to mention foods he definitely hadn't eaten, but that was one of life's great mysteries.

Peter's knees ached where he'd split the skin against the tile floor, and he shook violently. In the dark bathroom, he felt untethered, and laid his head down against the cool toilet bowl. The light snapped on.

“Ah, jeez,” Rocket said. “What the hell is wrong with you, Quill? Didn't the Ravagers teach you anything about holding yer' drink? What kind of-”

“I accept,” Peter rasped. His throat felt like he'd swallowed glass.

“Huh?”

“The bet. I'll bet you that...” What had they been arguing about, anyway? Peter struggled to remember, and then it came to him. “that Drax shaves. I mean, his people... they must have hair, otherwise his wife... well, she'd look gross! Nah, he shaves, for sure. I'd bet my money... no, my _mouth,_ on it. Yeah, that's right, I agree to your sick fucking terms.”

“Hey, watch your language,” Rocket snapped. “There is a child on this ship. Well, you know. Somethin' like a child.”

Another wave of nausea gripped Peter and he turned back to the toilet. What must have been his guts rushed out of him, because how could _anything_ be left? Eventually he did finally run out, or at least he stopped retching. Peter wiped tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand. Miraculously, he felt a little more sober. In his misery, he'd forgot about Rocket standing in the doorway, and jolted when something touched his shoulder. He turned around sluggishly and saw Rocket standing behind him, his eyes surprisingly sympathetic.

“D'ast idiot. Can you stand up?”

“Yeah... I feel... kinda better. Throat hurts, though.”

“Come on, I'll make us some coffee. I shouldn't have kept pushing ya'. People get hurt when they try to outdrink me, cos' I'm the master. It's a curse, really.”

Peter followed him back to the kitchen. “I'm sure.”

Rocket tapped a command into the wall-console, and the lights came up slowly, giving their eyes time to adjust. Then he rummaged around in the cabinet, dragged out his stool, set it up, and clambered up to reach the counter. Peter felt bad for him suddenly. It must be hard to be that little, and for everything to take twice as many steps as it did for everyone else. So many little things must have become a pain in the ass since Groot... since Groot had gotten hurt.

As if he could sense what Peter was thinking about, Rocket glared over his shoulder. “Sit down, Pete. I don't need nothin' from your drunk ass, so stop lurking around.”

Rocket rarely called him Pete. Normally he didn't appreciate the nickname from anyone, but he didn't argue about it this time. He didn't feel well enough to argue. So instead he sat back in his chair at the table, and watched Rocket scramble around, gathering up all the components and then loading the coffee pot.

“I was thinking that we should get an automated one,” Peter said, when Rocket got back to the table. “You know, where the filters and coffee and stuff are all set up in advance, and it puts it together for you when you push the button?”

“Don't need your pity,” Rocket panted. “m' fine. I've been doing stuff like this all my life.”

“It's not pity, really. It would be good for everyone. You know how Drax can mess up a pot of coffee.” Peter's head already felt clearer as the smell of percolating coffee filled the ship.

Rocket looked thoughtful. “I tell him to just use the grounds and the water, but he's always _adding_ stuff. And he's just so... pleased with himself. Like a kid, I swear.”

Peter laughed, and now that he could see clearly, he studied Rocket's face. The raccoon's appearance did nothing to betray that he'd been drinking all night. He wasn't even slurring anymore. Apparently Peter's... outburst... had sobered him up as well. Rocket caught Peter staring at him, and stuck out his tongue.

The sight of the pink tongue reminded Peter of the bet. “How're we gonna find out about his shaving habits, anyway? We can't just _ask._ ”

“Why not?”

“Because... he might not tell the truth.”

Rocket snorted. “Oh, yeah, that sounds like Drax. Everyone knows that the man's a compulsive liar. He'd tell you the sky is blue on a clear day, he'd-”

“Okay, cut the sarcasm, I get the point. We'll ask him.”

The coffee finished brewing, and alerted them with a soft chime. Peter poured their cups. Rocket stayed in his seat, slouching over the table and making fun of Peter for the amount of cream and sugar he took in his coffee, which was, to be fair, disgustingly excessive. He set the mugs on the table. Rocket liked his black, while Quill's was the color of... well, of the cream, pretty much.

They chatted some more, agreed to retire to bed after they finished their cups, and then talk to Drax in the morning. But as the coffee disappeared, Peter found himself reluctant to finish the last gulp. He was having a nice time. He had forgotten how much he liked Rocket, especially when they hung out alone, because it was so rare to ditch everyone else on the ship. Peter could be himself around Rocket, without the possibility of confusing him with a metaphor, or disturbing him. Nah, that wasn't exactly true. He'd disturbed Rocket plenty, particularly with detailed accounts of his sexual conquests. That always got his friend's fur bristling. Maybe Rocket had a squick about human reproductive functions, or something.

_Except for he's going to put his lips on my dick,_ Peter thought, and the unexpected thought gave him a confused pang in his lower region. It was definitely time to turn in for the night _._ Still, Peter made no move to finish his coffee. He realized that he and Rocket were staring at each other, mugs clasped in their hands, not sipping. They had somehow gotten caught in a stand-off, both parallel and opposite to the one earlier in the night. That had been over who could drink more. Now the question seemed to be about who would end the long and twisted night.

“You dyin' to find out the exciting conclusion to our bet, too?” Rocket finally asked.

Peter shrugged. “Not really. So... you're dying to get at my goods, huh?”

“Flark no! It's you who's gonna be down on yours knees, Pete. I'm ninety-nine percent sure that Drax does NOT have to shave.”

Something about the way Rocket had said that, the thing about Peter getting on his knees, sent another unwelcome jolt through his belly, and made his dick stir. He swallowed. “You wish,” he replied, which was sort of a lame comeback, but was the best he could think of in his distraction. _Maybe I'm still more drunk than I thought._

Rocket grinned. “Let's wake him up and ask.”

Peter rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, drumming the tabletop with his other hand. “Wait a minute, what does it look like, anyways?”

“What does _what_ look like?”

“Your... you know! Is it like...” Peter frowned. “all red and slimy, or...? Normal? There's really no dignified way to ask this.”

Rocket snorted. “And no way to answer with no dignification, either! Well, not that it's any of yer' business, but it looks pretty much like yours. I donno why the scientists picked it. But you don't gotta get your panties in a bunch, there's nothin' shocking down there. Except, you know, how giant it is.”

“ _Is it?”_

Rocket rolled his eyes. “Nah, you drunk imbecile, it's average. Why're you so obsessed with my package, anyway?”

Peter blushed, even though he hadn't asked anything strange, considering the circumstances. “I have to prepare myself, since I might be getting a... a close look.”

“So you admit that you might be wrong!” Rocket crowed, slapping his knee. Then he hopped up and started toward the stairs. “Come on, I gotta ask him now, I just can't wait.”

Peter followed him and started down the staircase, clambering up beside Rocket, nearly tripping over his small frame. Rocket yelled, “Hey!” and elbowed him in the leg, and when Peter tried to nudge him with his boot, the raccoon scurried out of his path and yanked his dangling foot. Peter reeled and nearly fell all the way down, but staggered backward instead. He landed on his butt, and Rocket turned back to look at him. His eyes laughed, and he held one finger to his lips- _shhh-_ and attempted to help Peter up.

“Gamora was right,” Peter whispered. “We're the worst.”

At the bottom of the stairs, they peeled off to Drax's room.

“Should we knock?” Peter asked.

“Why? I seriously doubt he's in there with lady or somethin', and I don't think Drax does... the other thing.”

Peter shook his head. “Do you really want to startle him? I don't know about you, but I didn't plan to end the night by being decapitated.

Rocket had been reaching up to activate the door switch, but hesitated. “Good point.” So he rapped on the door with his knuckles instead. They waited outside the door, just long enough for Peter to start feeling foolish, and then the door slid open. It opened only a crack, because for some reason Drax had set it to manual first, and he peered out suspiciously at them.

“What do you require, at this late hour?”

“Uh, we had... he have a question for you,” Peter said, suddenly wanting to crawl out of his skin with embarrassment.

Rocket piped up, “Peter wanted to ask if you shave your body! You know, cos' your so... smooth.”

Although it must have been his imagination, Peter would have sworn he heard a brief tinkle of female laughter, and his brow furrowed. Drax appeared unfazed, but glanced back into the bedroom. The look was so quick that Peter might have imagined it.

“This question, you've deemed it important enough to disturb me over?”

“Yes?” Peter guessed.

“Then I will be straightforward. I am required to shave both my head and body, by the customs of my people, in order to achieve the most efficient form for combat.” This time Peter _knew_ he heard a woman's surprised gasp from somewhere Drax's room. _You sly dog! How'd you sneak a girl in here?_ He wondered. Rocket howled.

“Whaaaat? No! We would have seen your razors,” Rocket raved, as Peter gestured frantically for him to keep his voice down.

Drax looked offended. “Why do you ask me this question? And why do you assume that I would leave my hygiene refuse in the common area? That is disgusting.”

Rocket pounded his fist on the door with a loud thunking sound. “Flark! Not half as disgusting as...” he paused, then his eyes rolled up to look into Peter's face, and his lips curled into a half-hearted smile. “Hey, buddy. We were just joking about that bet, right? I mean... yeah! Pretty hilarious! There's no way you would-”

Peter covered Rocket's whiskery muzzle with one hand. “Shut up already!” he hissed. “You'll wake up Gamora.”

Rocket shoved his hand away, spitting and wiping his mouth melodramatically. “You idiot, she's clearly still awake! Thanks for nothing, Drax.”

“You are most welcome. If you do not mind, I would like to return to my quarters now,” Drax said.

“Go! Just go, you big, leg-shaving pansy, you bald bastard, son of a-” The door slid shut, and Rocket rested his forehead against it with a groan. Peter blinked down at him, still trying to catch up.

“How do you know Gamora is awake?”

Rocket gave him a withering look, and Peter suddenly understood. He gasped, and the raccoon nodded.

“Yep, yep. I suspected they might be.” he sniggered. “Gamora's been walkin' funny.”

“That's... that's...!” Peter didn't know how to continue. He didn't exactly feel jealous, as had the feeling the he _ought_ to be jealous, because of his past flirtations with Gamora. That had been _awhile_ ago, though. Somehow Peter hadn't noticed when she pulled away from him, had simply stopped making advances toward her, without actually thinking about it.

“I know, disgusting. But what're you gonna do? On a little ship like this, folks are bound to start getting... feelings.” Rocket said the last word like a distasteful swear.

“Let's go back upstairs, I feel weird standing here while they're doing God knows what in there.”

The two of them filed back upstairs with much less roughhousing this time. Rocket seemed withdrawn, and Peter wondered why, but then he remembered their bet. He opened his mouth to tell him that he didn't have to go through with it, but something stopped him. _He would have made me do it,_ Peter thought. _He probably would have taken pictures too, and posted them on the ultranet._ The thought pissed him off.

“So,” Peter said. “Time to pay up.”

Rocket shot him a horrified look. “I thought we agreed that it was a joke!”

“Really? Because _I_ remember a little bitch trying to weasel out of a bet that _he_ suggested. Do you wanna do it here, or somewhere more private?”

“Neither?” Rocket sighed, a great whoop of resignation that seemed to deflate him. “Okay, alright. Here is fine. Somewhere private makes it sound like it might lead to something.”

Peter snorted. “That's up to you, I guess!”

_Where did that come from?_ He asked himself. He thought that Rocket would have something to say about that incredibly inappropriate comment, but the raccoon didn't even raise an eyebrow. Instead he looked a little distant, wrung his hands, and mumbled something that sounded like, _'guesso._ Peter felt another one of those odd twinges in his belly, and grappled with an onslaught of thoughts of what it would be like if Rocket took him up on the offer (it had come off as an offer, he realized) for this to lead to into something- the something obviously being a blowjob.

Peter sat down at the table and unzipped his pants, and lamented what a prideful idiot he'd been to insist on Rocket keeping his end of the deal. He didn't want to go through with it. Actually, he was beginning to want to go through with it, and that was even worse. He spread his legs, and flashed what he hoped was a convincingly nonchalant grin, and gestured to his crotch.

“Well?”

Rocket came reluctantly over to stand between his legs, and was short enough that he didn't have to kneel down to be face-height with Peter's junk. Peter reached into his boxers and pulled _it_ out, and couldn't bring himself to look down at Rocket's expression. He knew that he was half erect. _He's going to say something about it,_ Peter thought, heart hammering. _He's gonna be all freaked out, and hurry out of here._ But Rocket didn't do anything, so Peter finally did look down. The raccoon's whiskers trembled as he presumably worked up the nerve to get it over with.

Peter croaked, “You just gonna, like, stare at it all ni-” but then his breath hitched as Rocket leaned forward, and not only touched his lips to Peter's tip like he'd been obligated to, but flicked out his tongue. It dragged briefly against the underside of the head, and Peter failed to suppress a gasp. Rocket's daze flicked up and he locked eyes with Peter, and it occurred to Peter that they were at a crossroads. He could laugh it off, maybe even push Rocket's head away, like the whole thing had been a funny gag after all. Zip up and never talk about it again. Or... what exactly was the other option? _Damn._ Soon it would be too late to react, if he kept sitting there with a slack-jawed expression.

Whatever Rocket saw on Peter's face must have made up his mind, and one of his hands crept up push down his boxer's at the base of his dick. His tongue darted out again and he licked the tip, sending daggers of pleasure through Peter's groin. Peter covered his own mouth to keep from groaning aloud.

Rocket's hands rested on the shaft, just at the base where pubes curled softly between his fingers, and he started to work them up and down along the length. His paws were so small that he needed to use both of them to wrap around the girth. His tongue lapped steadily around the head. Peter slumped back in his chair, looked at the ceiling, trying to lose himself in the sensation, but he couldn't stop thinking about who did the stroking. Rocket was his friend. He might be his best friend, and Peter never had a single sexual thought about before that night, but now he was blowing him, and Peter found that he didn't need to pretend he was someone else to enjoy it. Instead of being turned off by the thought of Rocket down there, it sent a strange thrill through him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, as Rocket enveloped the tip in his mouth, hot breath washing over it. “That feels good.”

Rocket replied by tightening his lips around the shaft, mercifully keeping his teeth from scratching the skin in as he bobbed up and down. The raccoon's throat squeezed tight around the head, and he wondered where his friend had learned to take it so deep without gagging. Peter considered himself kind of an expert at deep-throating. Going through his teenage years with no parental supervision, and surrounded by unscrupulous people, he'd been able to experiment freely, and had learned plenty about sucking dick. So he recognized that Rocket a pretty advanced move, swallowing with Peter's dick in his throat, so the contractions made him nearly black out from sensory overload.

_Has he done it before?_ Peter wondered. He moaned aloud now, forgetting about the possibility that someone might walk in and see him with his pants open, and a raccoon hunched between his legs. _Maybe he and Drax-_

The thought of Rocket with the larger man sent a shiver through him. The feeling was part arousal, because something about that size difference was really doing it for Quill right now, something about Rocket struggling to fit that girth into his muzzle, but the other part of the feeling was... jealousy? _Learning a lot about yourself today, huh, Quill?_ Peter asked himself, but it was Rocket's voice in his mind. A more familiar sensation rose in his belly.

“Rocket,” he whimpered, and hearing his friends name from his own lips nearly pushed him over. “I'm gonna cum.”

Rocket backed off then, but his hands kept up their rhythm, and rubbed the skin in small circles as he stroked. For some reason Rocket lifted his gaze to meet Peter's eyes again, and then he did lose it. He came in spurts that hit Rocket's chin, who grimaced, and wiped his muzzle.

“So flarking hard to wash out,” he muttered, wiping to stuff off on his pants, which Peter noticed were tented in the crotch. Peter panted, and leaned on the table beside him.

“That was surprising,” he said, when he finally caught his breath.

Rocket surprised him again by pulling himself up into Peter's lap. “I donno why. It's not like I hid it, much. I mean... you really couldn't tell?” Peter stared blankly. “You know... that I was into you?”

“ _Into me?_ ” Peter squawked. “For how long?”

“What a stupid question. When you meet someone, you know right away if you'd wanna screw them. I mean, hot is hot. We didn't meet under the most friendly circumstance-”

“You tried to put me in a sac,” Peter reminded. “And turn me in for the units.”

Rocket dismissed this with a wave. “Yeah, exactly. But I thought you were... you know, hot. I wouldn't 'ave minded a piece of that. Plus, I liked you. You got a good attitude.”

Peter couldn't believe what Rocket was saying. That he thought Peter was _hot,_ that he'd _liked_ him... basically, a crush. Peter never would have guessed, not in a million years, although now that he thought about it, he could remember some strange behavior. Like right at the beginning, when Peter had snuck off in the night to rescue Gamora, and Rocket had rushed right after him without stopping to wake up Groot first. That had been a totally impractical move. Peter had made fun of him for it later, but Rocket hadn't been able to explain it to him.

And the two of them had always had a lot of fun, during all those in-between, quiet moments on the Milano, even during the storm of that first flurry of events which culminated in Ronan's death. It had always been Rocket and Peter, the last ones awake after everyone else went to sleep for the night. Peter knew that the two of them suffered the worst from nightmares. He might have guessed that was the reason they were reluctant to go to sleep, that they feared those awful internal landscapes- the laboratory for Rocket, the hospital for himself- and had naturally become close during the sleepless nights. But now it seemed that Rocket had an ulterior motive.

“Don't read too deeply into it, Quill. I know you're straight. I'm not anglin' to make you my girlfriend, or anything like that.”

Peter blinked. “You think I'm straight?”

“Yeah! Well, I thought so before. Now I'm a little less sure,” Rocket said. “But I know you got it bad for Gamora. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Peter laughed. “It's like you said before. Hot is hot. I'm not so rigid that way. And the whole Gamora thing, nothing was ever going to happen with that. We're from different worlds.”

“You and me are from different worlds too, technically speakin', and we get on alright. Still not implying anything, by the way.”

“Oh please, I know you like me. You confessed.” Peter grinned, and scratched his friend behind the ears. Rocket glared, but pressed back against Peter's fingers, and made a guttural noise deep in his throat.

“N-nah. I was just kidding. A little lower, humey.” Peter laughed at Rocket's derogatory name for humans and did what he asked, coming to scratch around the furry jawline instead. Rocket sighed comfortably and leaned back against Peter's chest, head lolling back against his shoulder.

“Or, you know, even lower,” he said, after a little while.

Peter's heart jumped as he realized what Rocket was asking him to do. He wasn't entirely opposed to it, especially since he'd been reassured that he wouldn't find anything shocking in Rocket's pants, which he now unbuttoned. Peter's deft fingers slipped below the hem of Rocket's underwear and groped at him. Rocket hadn't been lying when he said it was about average for his stature, although Peter was able to easily hold the entire length in his much larger hand, and he stroked rhythmically, not bothering to pull him out of his pants. Rocket quivered against his body.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his whiskers tickling Peter's neck. Peter felt himself start to get hard again as he pawed Rocket off in his pants, and his other hand crept under his shirt to run his fingers through his friend's chest fur. _That's gotta be some kind of refractory record,_ Peter thought _._ It had been awhile since he'd gotten laid, though. I was difficult to be alone with someone on the Milano anymore, with the Guardians tripping over each other in the confined space, which was probably how Drax and Gamora had wound up together.

On his lap, Rocket had begun to thrust his hips into Peter's hand, setting a faster tempo. Peter obliged by tugging more quickly, and was rewarded by Rocket's panting in his ear. The raccoon's arm shot up to wrap around under Peter's chin and around the side of his face, burying his fingers in the hair around the back of his head, and tugging gently.

Peter lightly bit Rocket, just where his shoulder and neck met, making him cry out as he came. Rocket's body stiffened as he thrust one more time into Peter's grip. Peter felt the wetness in his hand, and Rocket slouched back against him, spent. His fingers untangled from Peter's hair, and Rocket stroked the man's cheek as he took his arm away, an unexpectedly tender gesture that made Peter feel strangely giddy.

“'s pretty much morning, now,” Rocket mumbled, drowsily. “I could... I could pour us s'more coffee.” Peter stood up, sweeping the surprised raccoon into his arms.

“Nah, I think we'd better get a little sleep. I'm the captain of this vessel, after all, so I need to keep sharp. I don't guess you'd mind if I bunked with you tonight?” Peter didn't have any apparent reason to want to sleep with Rocket. He could have just dropped the raccoon off at his room and crept back to his own, and start the next day without an awkward moment between them, but as long as things were so completely off the rails, Peter could admit that he simply wanted to wake up beside his friend. Rocket's weight in his arms felt so damn right, and Peter was happy when Rocket grumbled again, _'Guesso._

 

 

They woke up late the next morning, with much less awkwardness than Peter had expected. They rolled around in bed for awhile, groping and laughing like new lovers, which Peter supposed they were. “Okay, we're actually making me sick,” Rocket finally said, shoving Peter out of bed. “Go out first and I'll go later, so it doesn't look like... well, you know.”

“Ouch,” Peter grinned, clutching his chest. “You ashamed of me, baby? Am I just one of your cheap sluts?”

Rocket slapped his ass. “The slut part's about right. Seriously, go on, I wanna get out of here. I'm frickin' starved.”

“Okay, I can take a hint. I'm going,” Peter said, looking over his shoulder when he got to the door. “I hope you've got cab fare for me, at least.”

Rocket rolled his eyes, and sat up, legs swinging down over the side of the bed. Peter grinned. “Oh yeah, and I'm gonna wear your sweater, I hope you don't mind, I'll just wash it and bring it back to you. And, and! I left my number on the nightstand. With little hearts around it.”

“I get it, you're a womanizer, you know the lingo.” Rocket stalked over and flipped the door switch, and crowded Peter out into the hall.

“Wait, I got another one! Let's have an inappropriately timed discussion about which names to give our future childr-” But then Rocket shut the door in Peter's face. Still chuckling, he turned around and found himself face to face with Drax. Well, more like face to collarbone, as the large man towered over him.

“Hey, buddy. What's shaking?” Peter asked, tentatively.

Drax paused, and glanced around. “I do not feel a shaking sensation. Are you concerned that the Milano's systems have malfunctioned?”

“Nah, man, just an expression. Sorry about waking you up last night.”

“You did not wake me. I had been engaging in sexual relations with Gamora when you knocked on my door.”

Peter's mouth fell open at the bluntness of Drax's statement. He shouldn't have been surprised, although he bet that Gamora would be pissed if she knew he was going around and telling everyone. But Drax was simple. He had no shame about his actions, and didn't understand why he should not tell people, and Peter respected him for that.

“Well, sorry for bugging you during that, then.”

“I must admit, I still do not understand. Why did Rocket not merely inform you of my hygiene rituals, if you wanted to know? Did he forget?”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, genuinely lost. “He didn't know, either.”

Drax looked thoughtful. “Only yesterday, he walked into the bathroom while I showered, and witnessed the act of my shaving my legs.” The image of that was so perfect, Peter couldn't suppress a laud, but Drax didn't seem perturbed. “Yes, that was Rocket's reaction, as well. I assumed that he understood that I shaved the rest of my body as well. Consequently, I became confused when he brought you to ask about it. Did he inform you, but you did not believe him?”

Peter frowned. “Something like that. Don't worry about it. I just want to go up and get some breakfast.”

“Will Rocket be accompanying you, or is he still asleep in your quarters?”

Peter felt his face turn bright red. “He's not in my bed! My quarters, I mean! Well, he is, actually, but not for any weird reason, he just-”

Drax smiled, and Peter wondered for a moment how much the man actually understood, and just pretended not to. “It is alright, Quill. Retrieve your partner and join Gamora and I for breakfast.”

Peter nodded, because it was all he could think to do, and Drax turned around and went upstairs. Gamora was already up there, laughing about something, and Peter could hear her so clearly. He had never realized how easily sound passed through the floors. He groaned, not looking forward to telling Rocket that they'd been outed. At least Drax had let it slip about Rocket's inside knowledge on the shaving issue. _He threw the bet! What a slut!_ Peter thought, bemused. He looked forward to lording that over his friend for a long time.


End file.
